Seeing Is Believing
by TJ-TeeJay
Summary: What if Joan told Adam that even after crazy camp, therapy and counseling, Joan was still talking to God? Would he believe her now? CHAPTER 2 UP.
1. You think I'm crazy

**Seeing Is Believing**

_by TeeJay_

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**Summary:**  
_What if Joan told Adam that even after crazy camp, therapy and counseling, Joan was still talking to God? Would he believe her now?_

**Author's Note:**  
_This idea has been floating around in my head for a while, and I wasn't sure if I was going to use it in one of my current WIP fanfics or if I was going to make it a separate thing. Well, for now I guess it's a separate thing, but I might pull it down later and integrate it into one of my stories. Let's see._

_If you like or loathe it, please leave a review. Would it help if I put on my puppy dog eyes? No, wait, that's Christopher Marquette's part, he's just so much better at it._

_Time frame: Set after season 2, and I even added some Ryan stuff in later chapters (although I'm not very good at continuing that storyline). It's a little angsty in the beginning and I'm sorry for what I'm doing to poor, little Adam Rove in chapter one once again. Like I said, he does it best. Can't help it. Heavy fluff alert for later chapters. I don't know what came over me, but sometimes I have this incessant need for harmony, for making both of them happy—together. And this story had to bear the brunt of it. Hope it's not too soppy. There are times I can't find the STOP button. 'Nuff said. Now go read. _

**Disclaimer:**  
_These characters and settings are not mine. Nor am I claiming they are. They are property of CBS, Barbara Hall Productions, Sony or whoever else they might belong to. I'm not making any money out of this, although I wish I was._

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It had to be here somewhere!

Adam roamed the shelves of his shed for that multi-colored coil of rope that he remembered having picked up from a garage sale once, peeking into corners that he was sure no one had touched for years. He took one of the chairs to stand on and look at the top compartment of the shelf in the corner. Reaching with his hands where he couldn't see, he didn't find the rope, but his fingers grazed the smooth surface a cardboard box. Groping along the edge of it to estimate its size, it felt like nothing he could remember having put there. Curiosity got the better of him and he pulled it toward him, so he could pick it up.

He took it from the shelf and put it on the table, dust bunnies billowing off of it. He brushed some of the gray dust off its lid, leaving streaks where his hands had wiped across the surface. It was a non-descript, white cardboard box without any writing or other markings on it. Adam lifted the lid off it and peered inside. It looked like a motley assortment of memorabilia: photos, drawings, artwork in different shapes and sizes. Adam picked up random pieces, finding himself looking at slightly yellowed photos of his parents, maybe in their late twenties, smiling happily. In one, his mother made an especially goofy face, and Adam had to smile at it.

Going on to the drawings and watercolor paintings, he picked a few of them out, studying them carefully. He knew they must have been made by his mother even without recognizing the small initials 'E.R.' in the bottom right corner. He slowly sat down on the stool behind him, raptly taking them in.

Then his eyes caught a small wooden frame with canvas on it. He withdrew it from the box and turned it over in his hands, so he could see what was on it. The sight made him swallow, letting the picture sink to the table in his hands. On the acrylic painting, there was a yellow boat with two people in it: A woman with brown, curly hair and a little, dark-haired boy, facing each other. The water was painted in a deep shade of blue-green and the sky a luscious blue with fluffy, white clouds at random intervals.

Adam hadn't even realized that tears had shot into his eyes, because all he could think about was Mrs. Girardi reading him the note that his mother had left him, speaking of yellow boats, green water, blue sky and spreading ripples. That moment in the Girardi kitchen, Jane's hand lightly touching his shoulder, his eyes on her mother as she spoke his own mother's words to him. He remembered her pulling him into a hug only a mother knew how to make it feel, wiping away his tears. He had wordlessly left the house after that, walking home in a daze, the note clutched in his hand. He had read the note a few times after that, but eventually, he had put it away in his desk drawer because the memory always brought the pain too close to the surface.

He had thought that he was done crying over his mother's death, it had been years now, and he had told himself time and again that he had come to terms with it. Just sometimes, completely unexpected, moments like this would catch him off-guard and rip open old wounds. He sniffled at his running nose and lifted his hand to wipe his cheek with his sleeve when suddenly the shed door burst open.

An excited Joan called out, "Adam! Hey, look what—"

She stopped dead in her tracks when her gaze fell upon Adam's face with the tears still lingering on his skin, his eyelashes wet and shiny. "Adam," she whispered. "What's wrong?" crossing the distance from the door to opposite him in a few, fast steps.

Then she saw the painting he was still holding limply in his hands and knew immediately what it meant. Her mouth parted in something akin to shock as she gently took it from his hands and touched the canvas with her index finger, as if to check if it was real. She looked at Adam again, who was sitting there with his head down, biting his lower lip that she saw was trembling ever so slightly.

And even though she knew it was totally irrational, after all he had put her through, she went to him without hesitation or question and gently wrapped her arms around him, much the same way that she had when they had watched the home videos he had taken with his mother last year. She could feel his shoulders shaking and she rubbed his back in soothing strokes, letting him cry for as long as he needed to.

After a few minutes like this, his sobbing subsided and he slowly pulled away from Joan. With watery eyes, he looked up at her, smiling a very small smile. Wiping at his tears, he said softly, "And you'd think I'd be done crying about my mom after all these years."

"Adam," Joan started, her voice full of sadness—sadness that seemed to have transferred from him to her in the most natural of ways. "It's... it's only natural, after what happened, no matter how long ago it was."

Adam met her gaze and asked, "Do you still think about... what happened with Kevin sometimes?"

"Yes, of course I do," Joan admitted. "But that's different. Kevin's still here. Your mother isn't." She paused, then carefully, softly asked, "You miss her a lot, huh?"

"Yeah," Adam sighed. "I mean, most of the time, when I think about her, it's like I know she's always there, watching. Sometimes, when I do my art, I get this odd feeling that she's standing right there behind me, watching over my shoulder." Adam snorted dismissively. "Huh. You'd think I was crazy."

"No," Joan said more vehemently than Adam had expected. "No, it's not crazy. When you want her to be close to you, she's always there. She always _will_ be. Just like God."

Joan had sat down on a second stool next to Adam, facing him now. And she didn't know how or why, but she was suddenly overcome by the strange feeling that this would be the moment to share her biggest secret, _really _share it so that Adam would believe and eventually trust her. She needed to tell him, right here, right now. It wouldn't mess things up between them again and it wouldn't drive him further away. This time it just couldn't.

She got his attention when she addressed him. "Adam, do you remember in the hospital, when I had Lyme Disease?"

"Yeah, sure," he replied, unsure of what she was getting at.

"And I told you that I..." Joan had a hard time actually saying it out loud to him a second time. "That I talked to God."

Adam nodded, his forehead now wrinkled in a frown.

"And do you remember how after the summer and Gentle Acres, I said that I wasn't talking to God anymore? You came to me and tried to tell me that there were others with the same gift, that there it was in writing that this happened to others. And I was just trying so hard to deny it, trying so hard to believe that it wasn't true and that it had all been a figment of my imagination.

"Well, it wasn't. I... I know it still sounds crazy when I say it, but, Adam, I don't have Lyme Disease anymore and I'm not mentally unstable, but God still comes to me in human form, telling me to do things. And it's just like it was. When I obey and do it, good things come out of it—good ripples. And... and even though He doesn't answer questions like why people die or why there's bad in the world or any kind of why, really, I know that when people die, they are in a good place and that they sometimes are closer to you than you think."

Adam's eyes had gone wide, filled with a kind of sad bewilderment and confusion. He wanted to say something, but words failed him.

Joan went on, desperately wanting to make Adam believe, make him understand. "There are million things I could explain to you. You remember the Crystal Ball? God told me to go there with Ramsey because if I hadn't, he would have ended up shooting teachers and students. And... and when I started that stupid videography project, it was because God told me to look closer to the surface, so that I could see what was going on with you—with us. And the thing with Stevie? God said that it was important that she discover the truth about who she really was."

Joan now looked down at the table, her gaze fixed upon a brush lying there. "And when I smashed your sculpture, it was because God had told me you had to stay in school. And when you didn't listen, I didn't know what to do anymore, so I made sure you couldn't sell your sculpture." Her head lifted again because she needed to tell him this to his face, looking into his incredibly soulful eyes. "When I said I had reasons, I did. The best reasons possible. I mean, who can go against God's will?"

She stared into his brown eyes more intently now, wanting to read in them that what she had said had registered with him. She wanted some sign of acknowledgement, of affirmation. When she didn't get an immediately reaction, she pleaded, "Adam. Say something."

He closed his open mouth for a second, opened it again and stammered, "I... I don't know what to say."

Joan's face fell. "You still don't believe me. Wait. Do you remember the guy in the brown corduroy jacket that kept sticking around? You know, spiky hair, cute face? I danced with him at the party that Luke and I threw, do you remember that? That's God. Or... or the gothic version? Tall, lank, black Mohawk haircut, metal studs in the face? That's also God. Or the old lady from the bookshop? That's also Her. Adam, I really wish I could show you, so that you'd believe me for sure."

Her look bore a silent plea, he could read it in her eyes and suddenly he couldn't bear to look at them for another second. He couldn't bear to disappoint her again. He lowered his head to study his fingers fumbling with a piece of wire that he had no clear recollection of ever having picked up. "Jane, I... Forgive me if this is all a bit hard to grasp. I mean... if all this is true... I need some time to think about it, okay?"

Joan swallowed. She had been so sure that Adam would believe her now, that he would accept her words as the truth and understand so many things about her, things that no one else had or would ever understand. That his eyes would light up and that he'd gather her up in his arms as every weird thing she had ever done would suddenly fall into place and make the perfect sense.

The disappointment at the absence of her hopes coming true drove deep and formed into a knot in her stomach she hadn't been prepared for. Not looking at him, she bitterly and accusatorily said, "You think I'm crazy. You think that this can't possibly be true." In a more quiet voice, she added, "But it is. Whether you believe me or not."

His eyes shot up and there was something apologetic in them. "No, Jane. I don't think you're crazy. I don't know what to think. I mean, back in the hospital, you were sick. They said you might be experiencing hallucinations. But you telling me this now? I—" He lifted his arms slightly, shrugging his shoulders. "I'm sorry," he whispered, not sure what he was actually sorry for.

"Look, never mind." Joan turned around and walked to the door. How was it that she always managed for any meaningful conversation with Adam to end up in failure these days? She heard him get up from this stool, quickly walking over to her. His lean but strong fingers closed round her upper arm and she felt him drawing her towards him so she would look at him as he spoke. The urgency in his eyes made her stop breathing.

"I'm not saying I don't believe you. I just need some time, okay?"

Joan nodded. "Okay," she said in resigned agreement. His hold on her arm lessened and Joan slowly walked out of the shed, leaving Adam standing where he was, lost deep in thought.

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**Author's Note - continued:**  
_I actually have something more planned for this, there's another scene in my head just now, but I need to mull it over before I can decide if it's the right thing to write down or not. Bear with me._

_I also wanted to say that I have read stories where Joan tells Adam about talking to God. And somehow it never felt right to me that she would tell him again after "Silence". I don't know why I wrote this, because in some ways it still doesn't feel right to me. Maybe it's a little AU from what's going on in my head about what I want from these two characters. But it's just that at some point I want them back together, and in my eyes that only works in the long run if there is complete trust. And how can there be, when Joan hides her biggest secret from Adam? I'm not making any sense, am I?_

_And I don't need to emphasize how much I love getting reviews, right? _;o)


	2. But it is, Adam

The large brown letters on the paperback's front cover spelled 'Pillars Of The Earth' and 'Ken Follett' beneath it. Adam turned the book over to read the text on the back cover. This sounded interesting, like something his dad might enjoy, so he picked it up and went to the counter to pay for it. His father had asked him to pick up a novel for him, so he would have something to do while staying in the hospital for a few days to have them run tests on his spine.

A slightly dorky looking man with thinning hair despite his age probably not even having reached 35 sat at the cash register. As Adam put the book on the counter to pay for it, Dorky-Guy put away the novel he was reading with a sigh, as if he was annoyed that a customer had the audacity to disturb him by buying something. Adam mentally shook his head. This was a bookshop, people should be expected to want to buy books.

The guy—Sammy, Adam suddenly remembered—eyed Adam with a disdainful look as he paid. He looked like he might have recognized Adam from the many times he had been in here, visiting Joan at work, but didn't want to admit that he did. It gave Adam the feeling that him actually _buying_ a book was somehow insulting Sammy.

Adam quickly collected his change and was about to go, when out of the corner of his eyes, he saw an old lady with round glasses strolling languidly along one of the bookshelves, taking a book out and leafing through it.

'Or the old lady from the bookshop. That's also Her.' Joan's words from the previous night appeared in his head with a sudden flash.

He stood with his back to the counter, watching the lady for a few indecisive seconds. At school, he had tried to avoid Joan as best as possible, for fear she might confront him, ask him for a decision or even just bring the subject of their last conversation up. But the few times he had talked to her today, she had acted like nothing had happened. She hadn't even given him that meaningful, probing look that seemed to demand his answer without even asking the question. She had accepted his wish to grant him some time and space, and he was immensely grateful for it.

Ever since Joan had left his shed last night, his thoughts had been turning somersaults. Could what Jane had told him really be the truth? Could it be that God walked among humans, speaking to those He chose, making them carry out His will in some small way? It had seemed just too weird a concept, but some little doubt remained at the back of his mind that what she had said could be discarded so easily. What if it really _was_ true? It would explain so many things—and yet again it would leave so many questions to be answered.

He had caught himself looking for a guy with spiky hair and a corduroy jacket in the school hallways as he passed from the lockers to the classrooms in between lessons. At one time, he had been sure it had been that guy, and just short of Adam addressing him, he had turned around and Adam had realized half in shock that it had been Steven Brody from Luke's year.

But now, looking at the old lady in the bookstore aisle, studying her face with the determined lines around her mouth from where he stood, he knew he had seen her before. In this bookshop a couple of times, once even in the school hallway, handing out muffins. Sometimes a photographic memory really _was_ considered to be a blessing. Adam could not help but walk over to the old lady, who was standing in a rather dark corner of the shop, still studying the book she had pulled from the shelf.

Stopping roughly a foot away from her, Adam cleared his throat a bit nervously. If this was really God, what could he possibly say to Him? Her? It? The confusion showed on Adam's face in the form of a deep frown on his forehead, much the same way he looked when he was deep in concentration over doing one of his arts project. Not finding anything to say, he stammered, "Um, excuse me?"

The old lady looked him straight in the eyes, and it made him want to drop the thick novel he was still holding. Only at the last second, he remembered to hold onto it. With a voice that had a bit of an annoyed edge at being disturbed, she asked, "Yes, Adam?"

"I—" He suddenly stopped. "How did you know my name?" he asked, taken aback.

She gave him a look that seemed to say 'Duh'. "I know everyone's name. Joan didn't tell you that yesterday, did she?" It wasn't really a question.

Adam took a step back. If there had been a chair or anything else to sit on near him, he would have sunken down on it. But there were only books and shelves and nothing to support his weakening legs. He suddenly felt the old lady's surprisingly strong hand steadying him, saying, "There, there. No need to be afraid of me, I'm really not that scary."

Whispering more to himself than to Her, he uttered, "So what Joan said was true? You are..." He stumbled on the word. "God?" His eyes had grown wide, realization just sinking in.

"Yes, I am. Does that surprise you?" She simply said as if this was the most natural thing in the world—that God would be having a conversation with a teenager in a bookstore.

"How do I know it's for real?" Adam gaped.

Giving him an annoyed look, She said in an unnerved tone, "Why does everyone always want proof?" Not waiting for an answer, She went on, "All right, I will tell you." She looked up at the ceiling like someone who was trying to recollect something.

"Let me see, you are Adam Rove, your father is Carl Rove, born in April 1951 in Arcadia. He's the only child of Patricia Sherwood and Herbert Rove." She recited this as if it was a list of facts for History class. "He met your mother on vacation in Canada in 1973, they got married in Washington three years later. Your mother died of a barbiturate overdose five years ago when you were 13. You are an only child and you live in a house on Alexander Drive with your father."

Adam narrowed his eyes; his look was still laden with skepticism. "You could have researched all that, yo," he told Her slowly, not quite willing to erase the last shred of doubt.

"Yes, but what I couldn't have researched is that when you were ten, you wished you were a girl because you liked playing with Barbie. You don't eat raw tomatoes because you don't like the consistency, and at night, when you lie in bed before you fall asleep, you think about how you could have prevented your mother's death if you just hadn't gone to the ice cream parlor with Grace and had instead returned home earlier."

Adam's remaining doubts were squashed like a bug. These were things that no one knew, no one but himself _could_ know, because he had not shared them with anyone. He had to grab hold of the bookshelf next to him for support with one hand. "This... can't be," he whispered.

Giving him an impatient look from over the top of Her glasses, the old lady said, "But it is, Adam."

Adam suddenly recovered, a million questions chasing each other in his mind. "If you're God, then... then tell me why you let my mom die? How could you let Judith die? And Rocky?" he blurted out.

OldLady-God's glance at Adam was sympathetic but also subtly pitiful. "Didn't Joan tell you that I don't answer the whys? All I can tell you is that things happen for a reason, even if you can't see it."

Adam opened his mouth to utter more questions, but Sammy interrupted the two of them. Addressing the old lady, indicating the book in her hands, he said, "Are you going to buy that? Because I am locking up for the night."

OldLady-God put the book back into the shelf. "Too revealing for my taste. That's something I need to contemplate," She said, and gave Adam a poignant look before She went to the door and left the store.

A few seconds after She had left, Adam released his grip on the bookshelf that he hadn't even noticed still holding onto and ran after Her. The bell on the door tinkled as the glass door opened and closed again. "Wait!" he shouted, stopping outside the bookshop, looking in both directions. Uncannily, the old lady was nowhere to be seen.

Adam's hand went to his forehead and he moved it through his hair towards the back of his head. He let it fall to his side in confusion and irritation. This was some revelation. Not sure what to do with the information he had just learned, he started walking aimlessly.

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Euclid Drive. That's where Adam's feet had taken him, without him even noticing. He didn't have any clear recollection of how long he had been walking, but it must have been at least three quarters of an hour if he had walked from the bookstore out here to the suburbs.

He stopped in front of the Girardi's house, not sure how to proceed. He had replayed the conversation with the old lady over and over in his mind, still not completely wanting to believe it. But there really was no doubt left to hold onto, was there? She had said things to him that no one, and he meant _no one_ could have known about. And no matter how much he tried to deny it in his head, it wouldn't go away.

There was only one person he knew that he could discuss this with without thinking he was out of his mind or delusional or accusing him of an overactive imagination. He had to talk this over with Jane.

Ringing the doorbell, he expected Joan to open the door, but it was Mr. Girardi who stood before him. "Adam," he half asked, the surprise evident in his greeting. It had been a long time since Adam had come to this house after dark.

"Yeah, I was wondering if I could talk to Joan."

Mr. Girardi stepped aside to let Adam in. If Joan had told him anything about their break-up or the circumstances surrounding it, Mr. Girardi wasn't indicating any resentment toward him. "Sure, come on in. I think Joan's watching a movie."

Adam hesitantly stepped into the house. The surroundings seemed familiar to him, but he also felt a little out of place and insecure, coming here all out of the blue without prior warning. Adam followed Mr. Girardi into the living room, who announced, "Joan, you have a visitor."

Adam could hear Joan's slightly sarcastic voice before he saw her. "Who, geek-boy's anarchic girlfriend?" When Adam stepped out of Mr. Girardi's shadow, Joan greeted him with complete surprise in her voice. "Adam!"

"Yeah, I... Look, I kinda need to talk."

Will Girardi knew when it was time to leave, so he quietly made his exit, leaving Adam and Joan to themselves in the living room. As Joan used the remote control to switch the television off, Adam removed his knapsack from his shoulder and put it on one of the armchairs. Kneading his hands in front of him uncertainly, he didn't know how to start. "Jane, I..."

He knew he had to sit down for this, but somehow sitting next to Joan on the couch didn't seem like the right place to be. Cross-legged, he took a seat in front of the couch, leaning his back against it. He didn't think he could face looking at Joan, he wasn't quite ready to go there yet. First he needed to say what he had to say without her eyes drilling into his face.

"What you told me the other night... You know, about talking to God... I was in the bookstore just now, buying a book for my dad, and there was the old lady—the one you told me about. And then I talked to her and she, she told me things that no one could know about and she also knew about our conversation in the shed and she said that she talked to you and..." Words were tumbling out of Adam like water out of a fountain.

"And, and she... Jane, if that is really God, then this kinda overthrows my whole belief system," he finally finished, a little out of breath.

Joan had been patiently listening to him the whole time. She had been through this herself more than two years ago, she knew exactly what Adam was going through. The whole concept had just been as mind-boggling for her as it must be for Adam. Except Adam had had prior warning.

Uncomfortable at the fact that she couldn't see his face, Joan slid down the couch to sit next to Adam on the floor, in much the same position he was in, only she drew her knees up so that she could cross and rest her arms on them. She looked at him and wasn't surprised to see bewilderment written all over his face.

"Yes, I know," she said understandingly. "Kinda blows your mind away when you think about it, doesn't it?"

"Cha," Adam simply replied, and Joan couldn't help but smile at that completely Adam-like response. This felt a bit like old times, and that introduced a bittersweetness she had not been prepared for.

Adam turned his head to look at her. "So, you say God gives you assignments? And when you follow them, things turn out okay?"

Joan nodded. That was exactly what it had been like for the past two and a half years.

"Have you ever refused?" Adam asked curiously. He was trying to figure this out just as much as she still was.

"Well, yes. No. I mean, He always keeps going on about how He gave us free will, so these assignments are not, like, mandatory or anything. He calls them 'suggestions'. I think the most important message is that we can always decide what we want to do. But generally, if I obey—no matter if I think it's the right thing to do or not—things turn out okay. So why would I want to challenge that?"

"Yeah," Adam whispered. He looked at Joan and said, "Jane, do you know how incredible this is?" He used his right hand to quickly rub it on his thigh as if he was wiping sweat off his palm.

Joan was suddenly overcome by a strong urge to form some sort of physical connection to the only person she had trusted her biggest secret in and who finally was believing her. Slowly, she edged her hand closer to his, which was still resting on his thigh, and slid hers in his. She wasn't surprised when he returned the gesture and intertwined his fingers with hers.

Joan leaned her head back, so that it rested on the couch seat. "Adam, you have no idea how long I have wanted to share this with somebody. But after I told you in the hospital and you didn't believe me, I... I was afraid to."

Adam tightened his grip on her hand a little. "I believe you now," he simply said, and the relief and joy at his statement brought tears to her eyes.

They sat in silence for a minute, both not sure about the significance of recent developments. Adam finally voiced his question. "So, what does this mean? Am I gonna get assignments now too?"

Joan lifted her head off the couch again. "I don't know. I don't think that's how it works, but you never know. It's not like He asked me to recruit you or anything, but I suppose anything's possible. We'll just have to wait and see."

"Yeah," Adam said. They sat in silence for a long time, hands intertwined. If you didn't know better, you might think they were lovers, silently basking in each other's comforting presence.

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End file.
